“She’s been neglected, that’s for sure.” Commander Miados stood at the docking port as the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt approached Montana Station.  After much pestering and insistence, she had ensured the latest engineering report would be in her hands when the ship arrived.  At her side stood the future CO of the Ambassador class starship, Captain Peter Crawford.  His extensive experience in operations had lent a hand as she’d worked through the lists of applicants for the project.

Peter had his PADD in hand, “Frontier Day wasn’t kind to her.  Most of her crew were young. Out of 500 crew, they lost 300.” He stopped, taking a breath to understand a sixty percent death rate. His eyes read ahead, and he began to understand the choices that had brought the Franklin to them.  He continued, “Out of the remaining 200, another 100 required long-term care.  None of them returned to duty.”

Miados felt her symbiont shudder as memories of loss flooded through both of them.  “The remaining 100?”

Crawford scrolled through the just-arrived report: “Fifty resigned, and the others requested transfers. She’s sat empty since.  Everyone’s come up with excuses not to take her or even step on board.”  He shifted uneasily as he watched the beautiful ship slide into the docking port structure, the ground shuddering with a thunk as the ship locked to Montana Station.

Miados scrunched her nose, “And we were the lucky ones that earned clean-up duty.”

Peter made some notes: “You get a chance to put your rookie crew to work on something old that needs to be retrofitted with the newest tech. That’s a win.”  He grimaced. “I am the one tasked with clean-up duty.”  He switched subjects: “The refit operational plan has a thirty-day schedule.”

She gave him a side glance, “I know ship engineers have a reputation for being miracle workers when it comes to time and space manipulation.  I used to be one.  The thing is – I’m a station engineer now.  I’ve come to learn and appreciate taking the time to get it done well and not rush because that’s what everyone seems to know.  We’ll make our deadline, but I won’t accept a rush job just to shave a few days off the calendar.”

A wry chuckle escaped his throat, “You sure you don’t want to come back out to space – I’m starting from scratch when it comes to a crew.”

She rolled her eyes as she activated the console to activate the walkway to the Ambassador, “Commander to captain – as the universe is my witness, I will never step foot on a starship again.  Montana feels like home.  I’m happy here.”  She glared accusingly at him, “You’re not getting me on your nightmare cruise, Crawford.  I know better.”

He shrugged as the door gasped open, and he followed her into the walkway, “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

She cackled, “I can, and I will.”

“Damn.”  Crawford stood at the rear of the ruined bridge.  The battle for control of the Franklin Delano Roosevelt had been a brutal one, and while the bodies no longer lay sprawled across the deck…the stains on the carpet remained.  Weapons fire had burned the walls as the panicked crew had fought to defend their ship; he’d read and re-read the reports.  “We’ll need a full refit of the bridge.”  He walked gingerly down into the command circle, staring at the chairs burned in the firefight. The consoles were operational, but they’d also been scarred in the fight.

Miados worked the engineering display: “It’s as bad as the reports said. Engineering looks like it took the brunt of it. I’ve got a bunch of parts and pieces on Montana we can use.  We’ll have to go deck by deck to inspect everything – EPS conduits, Jefferies tubes, computer core – everything.  The good news is that she’s old enough, and we know everything about the Ambassador class.  Everyone in the academy studied the Enterprise C incident and how long she held out before sacrificing herself.  They’re tough ships.”  She made a few more notes on her PADD, “My deputy chief is heading to Engineering…unless you need me?”  She took her leave as he nodded.

Peter looked around. The bridge was an older model that had not undergone much physical upgrade work since the Dominion War.  Memories of his assignments during those years floated in the back of his mind.  It had been a harrowing time.  He turned to the door across the room that led to the ready room.  The previous captain had been one of the last fatalities in the blood-soaked hours of Frontier Day.  She’d held the bridge with the precious few old enough to have avoided being caught up in the genocidal conspiracy.  The FDR had fallen and was on its way to rain destruction.  The timely intervention of Captain Picard and the reborn Enterprise D had been the only thing that had kept the Federation from falling.  Crawford had plenty of feelings about that ship and her crew.  He stepped into the ready room and found it in disarray.  “What a mess,” he muttered and went to work.

“We’re going to need to rebuild the chamber – it’s a small miracle it’s held together as long as it did.  The crew that dropped her off had to stop and stabilize the core several times.  Slowed ‘em down a little.”  Christopher Grace had taken the warp core offline and was working through understanding the damage.  He’d transferred from Starbase Bravo a few weeks ago and immediately took charge of the day shift in the station’s repair and refurbishment operations.  Miados hadn’t minded – Grace had a way of holding himself in a way that projected the intensity of authority.  It helped that he was an expert in warp engines and cores.  His application for the team had been the first turned in, and he’d waited patiently at the dock to get the first crack at the FDR, as they’d taken to calling the ship.  Franklin D. Roosevelt didn’t roll off the tongue smoothly.

Miados asked, as she made what felt like the hundredth note in her PADD, “Are we still going to make the deadline?”  Her confidence wasn’t necessarily shaken, but walking through the corridors and focusing on reality gave her pause.  The Franklin D. Roosevelt had been through hell.

Chris paused in his work and directly made eye contact with her, “They gave us thirty days.  I’m going to use the full thirty days, Commander. The FDR will fly on time.”  She gave him a thankful look and left him to his work.  She came to the open door of the Chief Engineer’s office, “How bad?”

Lieutenant Greer Moore turned around from where she stood, working the display board with the latest reports from across the ship.  The broken desk had been removed, and scattered debris from whatever fight had happened in the room remained.  Damage control teams were moving deck by deck as they worked.  “It’s not great.  EPS conduits and circuits are hit or miss.  We’ve got a large section of several decks with power outages that are going to take time to trace – banks of bio-neural packs got fried and shorted out.  Not pretty.  You saw the bridge.  The officer mess and staff lounges are rough – they’ll need a complete replacement.”  She cocked her head to the side as another report crackled in her earpiece, “They’re working through the computer core – it’s slow going.  Trying to see what got disconnected or ruined is taking some time.  Thank goodness we’ve got manufacturing facilities on Montana.”

Miados held up her PADD, “Chris thinks we’re going to need to shift to 24-hour shifts.”

Greer updated as her earpiece squawked.  She scrolled through the list, “It’s going to be necessary.  We’ve got thirty-one decks worth of repairs and refit to make.”  She turned around, “Captain Crawford talk to you about his crew yet?”

“He did.  You interested?”

The look of annoyance from her deputy chief was answer enough, along with the scoff, “I’m happy on this station – nice and big with plenty of defenses.  I’ve had a few of our lower deck folks asking about it.  The word is out that the FDR needs a crew.”

Miados asked for some names, and a PADD was in her hands moments later, along with a rough draft of names.  She frowned at a few, chuckled at a couple of others, and mused on one or two.  “I’m not sending him our resident idiots or letting him take our strongest- I marked them off.  There are a couple that might have a chance at the gig.”  She handed the PADD back, “What do you think?”

Greer glanced at the list, “I’d agree.  You want to talk to ‘em?”

“Call ‘em over – have them meet me in the lounge.  Have Crawford meet me there.  Good a time as any to interview.”